


Jarmed in the Target Jathroom

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Jurtains, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 03:43:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15015920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: An innocent Target run.





	Jarmed in the Target Jathroom

 

The Target run was supposed to be a quick thing, in and out and back home. They just wanted some curtains that would block the sun that fell _directly_ on the bed, almost always right at eye level for Nate, or worse, arm level, where it would hit his TO and bounce across the room, lighting the whole damn thing.

Nate just wanted to move the bed, but Wade wasn’t having it. Something about his creative energies being balanced and needing the furniture just so, which was clearly bullshit, but Nate figured curtains were easier than arguing.

Except nothing was ever easy with Wade.

He spent _at least_ an hour hemming and hawing over rod-pockets versus eyelets, whatever the fuck any of that means – Nate’s fairly certain Wade doesn’t even know – and there weren’t even that many goddamn options. It’s only when Nate, bored and starting to get irritable, reaches out touches one of the displays that Wade makes any concrete decision.

A gasp leaves him when he sees what those TO fingers are tugging at, and he brings his hands up in gleeful little fists to press against his cheeks.

“The _jurtains_ ,” he whispers, and Nate gives him a look, which just seems to make him even more pleased with the find. “We need them. Those are what we want. Good eye, honeypie.”

“What the fuck,” Nate says slowly, not sure he wants to know, “are _jurtains_?”

“Curtains but denim,” Wade replies with utter earnest sincerity. “It’s – don’t give me that face – it’s basic English.

“Not in my time, it’s not.”

Wade laughs, digging through the messy shelves to find two packages of the curtains he wants so bad. “Well, welcome to the 21st century, baby. Look, ask anyone – you take an item, like… shorts, make ‘em outta denim, so now they’re jorts. A shirt, but denim, a jirt. These?” He holds up the plastic shrouded curtains. “ _Jurtains_.”

It’s just stupid enough to be true, and Nate doesn’t know enough about this time period, especially not its slang, to argue. He shrugs noncommittally and watches Wade turn and saunter off toward the front of the store.

They check out with the self-service kiosks, and Nate looks forward to getting back to the apartment and putting the curtains – jurtains – _whatever_ up. He’s been needling Wade about the state of their shared space, but Wade either can’t bring himself to care (depressed, though neither of them dare address _that_ ) or can’t focus on something as mundane as cleaning. Hanging curtains is a step toward getting him to at least accept Nate sorting out the trashheap they were living in.

He’s thinking about that as they head toward the door and so almost snaps something nasty when Wade grabs his hand and jerks him away from the exit, over toward the restroom. Instead, with monumental self control, he says nothing, just jerks his hand away.

“Just saw someone I really wanna introduce you to,” Wade says, all appeasing grins and easy backwards steps towards his goal. Nate sighs, but steps willingly after Wade, sensing the eagerness and delight bubbling off him in spades.

And maybe he’s a little curious as to who Wade would be so interested in introducing him to.

Except there’s no one there when they get in, just Wade eagerly grabbing hold of him and backing him into the wall of sinks. He’s leaning up against him, kissing insistently, clutching at his dick through his fatigue pants. It’s a little alarming, how suddenly it all comes on, but Nate barely has the presence of mind to reach out a thread of telekinetic force to lock the bathroom door, too concerned with how Wade’s sliding to his knees, mouthing him through his clothes.

It’s always alarming how good Wade always manages to look on his knees, no matter where they are or how rough of a day they’ve had. He’s pretty this morning, even bathed in harsh florescent lights of the Target bathroom, and Nate is so eager he barely bothers with his flies and instead yanks his trousers down over his hips, letting his cock spring free.

Nate draws in a slow, shuddering breath. It’s too fucking early for this. He wants to stab forward into that eager mouth and has to grip tight onto the sink behind him to keep still. His chest heaves with the exertion; his pulse races. An unbidden groan catches, tries to claw its way up his throat as Wade takes him into the wet heat of his mouth, lips stretched taut around Nate’s cock – licking, lapping, sucking. His tongue brushes the sensitive underside, caresses and chases a vein from root to head, until Nate really does moan, completely at his mercy, one palm sweating, both hands trembling, hips bucking.

“Wade,” he growls, his voice snarling around the name. “Come on," he says. “Please… Please… Please.” He chants it like a fucking mantra.

He doesn’t even know what all it is that he wants. All Nate knows is how he feels, and right now he feels like he’s floating away, that Wade is all he’s got to keep him properly anchored; Wade, who kneels before Nate now in an obscene mockery of reverence; Wade, whose lips are swollen and red in colour; Wade, whose only current focus seems to be to bring Nate pleasure, to worship him like the deity Nate isn’t –

It’s with that thought that Nate loses any restraint, his hands moving from the sink to clench at either side of Wade’s head, holding him still and snapping his hips forward. Wade immediately gags, his eyes watering.

That right there is enough that Nate panics, tries to draw back, but Wade’s hands are firm and unrelenting on his hips. They hold him in place as Wade continues his work, this time fast and sloppy, his big thumbs stroking circles into Nate’ protruding hip bones and his cheeks hollowing. He hums some tuneless melody, tonguing the slit of Nate’ cock and swallowing around him, doing all he can to bring him right to the brink, and it Christ, but it works.

Nate tries to buck again, shuddering against Wade’s strong hold, this time less controlled in his movements, more jerky, more desperate. “Wade,” he pants, a warning.

Wade looks up at Nate through his lashes – an answer – and that’s all it takes. Nate moans, a wrecked, harsh noise following the sated sound as he spills into Wade’s mouth and digs his fingers in against Wade’s scalp.

Hard. Harder than he means to.

When he opens his eyes, Wade is grinning, eyes wide and wet with instinctive tears from the pain, his mouth gaping as he pulls back from Nate’ softening cock with a lewd wet sound. Come dribbles from the corner of his mouth, what little he didn’t swallow, and Nate awkwardly unclenches his hands from the bruising grip he’d held Wade in, and uses the pad of a thumb to brush it away, embarrassed and uncertain in the aftermath.

Proud of himself and still hard – Nate can see the tent in the front of his sweatpants – Wade grabs him by the wrist and sucks his thumb into his mouth, moaning wetly as he swallows every last trace of come.

“Stop that,” Nate finally grunts, pulling his hand away and shaking the saliva off. “Get up.”

After about three seconds, Wade finally starts moving and Nate helps him along with TO fingers twisted in the back of his shirt. Wade’s actually giggling as he’s manhandled, puts up no resistance as he’s shoved into the corner. His head cracks sweetly against the tile wall, just enough to rattle as Nate presses in close for a kiss, shoving his hand past the bright pink waistband of Wade’s sweats.

“Oh god,” Wade moans into the kiss. “Fuckin’… know how to give a guy a jand, fer sure.”

“Shut up,” he says, but he’s grinning as he says it, stroking Wade fast and rough, the way Wade jerks off when he’s alone and thinks no one’s awake. Compliantly, Wade quiets, pressing his face into Nate’s shoulder and breathing quick, hot little breaths as he spreads his legs.

Nate can’t help but laugh. “You’d come right in your fucking pants for me, wouldn’t you? Little slut, wouldn’t bother you at all to walk around with come staining the front of you.”

Wade nods sharply, eagerly against his shoulder, eating up the words. “Come all over my jweatpants, just for you.”

He’s treated to a soft groan-laugh, since Nate's ability to be annoyed has been temporarily drained via his dick "Fucking ridiculous. You're up for anything I want to do to you. Even if it means walking around in your own creamed panties."

"Yeah, I... my _janties_ thankyouverymuch... if I were wearing any, which I'm not."

"It was dirty talk." Nate squeezes his cock, a little harder than necessary, earning a silvery keen. "You want it or not?"

Wade goes very, very still, fingers clutching hard against Nate’s shirtfront. "If you stop now, I'll kill you, Jate." A weak laugh. "Denim Nate."

"Meant the dirty talk, idiot. Pretty obvious you want your sad little dick jerked off." A weighty pause, his hand stilling. "Then again, you keep making the same shit joke, so maybe you _don't_."

"Oh God... Jod..." Wade whines helplessly, hips jerking. "Please don't stop, please I'm so close... gonna jome for you…"

Nate’s hand comes out of Wade’s sweats long enough to flip him around, so his back is pressed flush, hard to Nate’s front. He kicks his legs out from under him so he can spin them, so he’s leaning against the wall, Wade on full display to the room.

He can’t help rolling his eye at Wade’s eager bucking in his hand, but it’s fond. "I'm not walking out of here with you smelling like a used condom. Come on the floor." He pauses again, making Wade strain and whine, before leaning in and breathing a deadpan: "Jome for me, baby."

“You’re a… true fucking _jomatic_ , Nate.”

The hand that was pressed lightly to Wade’s stomach heads immediately for his throat. A little is never enough for Wade; he always wants more, the most, everything he can get away with. “I _will_ rip your dick off and feed it to you, Wilson.”

Just like that, Wade’s really there, right on the cusp, grinding helplessly into Nate’s hand. "Oh, fuck… gonna have a jorgasm…"

"I despise you."

"I know, jaddy…" Wade says lovingly, laughing as Nate strokes him. “That’s… Denim daddy...”

"Jesus fucking _C_ _hrist,_ " Nate says, but again it’s fond.

Wade makes a noise somewhere between a sob and a moan as he leans back against Nate, his head lolling back against Nate’s shoulder as he comes… directly on the discarded curtain packages. That gets a real, honest to god growl of laughter as Wade snaps back into himself, pushing away from Nate in horror.

"No, my jurtains!"


End file.
